"Drink this, honey, it’ll do you good," said her mother, holding a brimming gourd of water to her pale lips, and she drank a little and declared that she felt better. "Do you s’pose they’ll hang him, Bet?" in a fearful whisper. "I don’t know, ma, if he’s tuk human life—" she paused with a shudder. A new sensation had been furnished the settlement, and a far greater one than the mere theft of a little money. The men met to discuss the crime, and the women spoke of it in low, awestruck tones. Then it was discovered that the man had not been killed, but badly wounded and stunned. A quieter spirit prevailed, and when it came out that the stranger had struck the first blow, and that Sanders had only acted on the defensive, the tide of public sympathy turned in his favor. It does not belong to this story to go into all the details of the trial held at the September term of the county court. It is enough to say the young man was acquitted and walked out of the court-room free, but subdued and quiet. He went direct to Farmer Crow’s, and walked into the room where Bet sat with her patchwork. She greeted him with grave kindness, and asked him to sit down, but he declined, preferring to stand. He twisted the flexible willow switch he carried, nervously around in his hands, and swallowed audibly, as though something choked him. "They’d ’a’ tuk my life shure in their first mad fit if it hadn’t ’a’ been for you, Bet," he said finally, with an effort. "I don’t know what to say; I ain’t much fer words, but—" "Please don’t say nothin’ ’bout it, Bill," she pleaded in great embarrassment. "Folks air a-puttin’ what I done up too high. If I helped you it wasn’t nothin’ more’n duty, seein’ as you was plum’ tuckered out with runnin’. I’d ’a’ done it fer ennybody." "Don’t I know that better’n you, Bet?" he exclaimed bitterly. "Don’t I know you can’t bear the sight o’ me? but I’m a-goin’ to show you that I ain’t ungrateful fer what you’ve done fer me." He passed his hands over his eyes. "Bet, I done somethin’ for you that for yer sake I’m now a-goin’ ter undo. Next Sunday is meetin’ day at Cool Spring, an’ I’m a-goin’ ter make public acknowledgments o’ my temptations, an’ the doin’s o’ Satan in my heart. I’ve keered for you mighty nigh to the ruination o’ my hopes fer a better world. But if God A’mighty kin fergive me, then you kin tu, Bet. Good-evenin’." He turned to go. She sprang up, scattering her quilt pieces right and left. "Bill!" she gasped, but he strode hastily out of the room, mounted his horse, and rode away. The last song had been sung and the congregation at Cool Spring church were about to rise to receive the benediction when Bill Sanders stood up, and clearing his throat, looked around on the people. As he met the curious expectant eyes fixed upon him, he seemed to waver—to flinch from his purpose.